


Tinder & Spark

by Enchantable



Series: Firebird (Accessible Version) [4]
Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:01:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27361636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enchantable/pseuds/Enchantable
Series: Firebird (Accessible Version) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1917388
Kudos: 6





	Tinder & Spark

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Firebird](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25413787) by [Enchantable](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enchantable/pseuds/Enchantable). 



“You seem troubled, brother,” Gawain says, appearing besides him as if in a dream.

“Just nightmares,” he says, “it’s nothing.”

Gawain nods but Lancelot knows he doesn’t believe him. Their hold on the port is good but Gawain’s power is essential to keeping out the threats. He’s stretched thin and the human aspect of his appearance has suffered as a result. Morgana’s righteous words ring in his ear and the old scar on his bicep aches in remembrance.

“There are things that could help,” Gawain starts.

“I don’t want to become dependent on them,” he says.

Gawain nods.

“You’re not the first Knight to have a troubled sleep after being taken by the Church,” he says and there’s a note of humor in his voice, even as Lancelot fights the urge to recoil, “I would have been the same, I’m sure.”

“How did they make them stop?” He asks.

“Potions,” Gawain says, “and by remembering they were safe.”

Remembering he’s safe isn’t the problem. Lancelot remembers even before he’s fully awake. He knows the difference between the dream of Pym’s scent the actual one. The difference between what now lingers on his clothes and what comes off her in the moment. He knows Squirrel as well. He knows they are unique to him being safe.

“I know I’m safe,” Lancelot says, “they will pass with time.”

“They will,” Gawain agrees.

Lancelot wonders if it sounded as hollow when he said it.

“I used to be able to sleep out of necessity,” he admits, “everyone here sleeps for longer.”

“They are not warriors in the way you are,” Gawain says, “no-one is.”

Lancelot can think of one person, but even Tristain is different. She sleeps uninterrupted, he’s checked on her snoring enough times to know. He’s surprised and yet not at how much more pampering the Trinity Guard seems to have received. Even compared to the most spoiled Paladins. Even among them, he knows he was without more than most. Sleep, food, vices—Father stressed purity to him in a way that very few others had to suffer.

“But,” Gawain says, “that doesn’t mean you’re alone.”

Lancelot knows he’s right about that. And slowly he finds himself believing it in a place that has little to do with knowing.

“Thank you,” he says to Gawain who nods, “do you sleep?’

“I imagine I’ll hibernate or something when the winter comes,” Gawain says, “or not. I’m not really sure. But for now I do not feel the need for sleep,” a smile passes across his features, “my alive self would be very jealous.”

Lancelot departs feeling better at having spoken to him and makes his way back to the church. Squirrel is asleep on his cot and he finds his way back to the one that he shares with Pym. She’s on her side, her braid falling over her shoulder. He knows she’s not asleep from the way she breathes but also that she is pretending. Probably to save him some embarrassment. He gently touches her shoulder to let her know he’s there and gets into cot next to her. She rolls towards him.

“I spoke to Gawain,” he says.

“Do you feel better?”

He thinks for a moment, saving the weight of her head on his chest and nods.

“I do.”

* * *

“Well you’ve gotten better,” Guinevere mutters, looking at the line of stitches, “these are almost straight.”

“They’re holding your skin together,” Pym points out.

Guinevere can’t quite object though it’s clear she wants to. The injuries she’s seeing these days are mostly the bumps and bruises that the Raiders are known for, along with the occasional slash or impalement just to spice things up. Now there are more sparring accidents as well as they train and help train the new people who join them. There are even new healers, though Guinevere and her Raiders always seem to come to her. She wraps Guinevere’s wound even though she rolls her eyes the whole time.

“Can I go or would you like to kiss it better?”

“You can go,” she says, “unless you want a kiss?”

“I’d rather kiss a toad.”

Pym watches her go and cleans up, only to turn and see Squirrel shuffling in, Lancelot behind him. Pym almost asks what is happening but one look at the discolored skin around Squirrel’s eye answers that one. He’s going to have a spectacular bruised eye.

“What happened?”

“I fell,” he says.

“He hit a rock,” Lancelot offers.

“Accidentally!”

She touches his chin and looks at the bruise. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Lancelot leaning forward as well. She’s used to Arthur hovering horribly, but at least he knows that it’s a bit easier without him right there. Lancelot seems to have no concept of it, not where Squirrel is involved. When she turns around, Lancelot is so close she can practically see his eyelashes.

“He’s alright,” she says. His eyes snap to him, “it’s going to be a little easier if you step back.”

Lancelot seems to realize she’s right and takes two steps back before folding his arms. She looks back at her patient who rolls his eyes at that behavior. When she gently prods his cheek and he winces, she sees Lancelot step forward. Though what he plans to do, she cannot say. It’s just a black eye, it’s not anything to really be terrified about. But maybe because it’s Squirrel things are different.

“I’d take it easy on training for a few days,” she says, “let’s get you something cool to put on it.”

“Why?” Lancelot asks.

“To help take the swelling down,” Pym explains.

He nods.

“Stop worrying so much,” Squirrel says, “it’s just a bruise,” she gives Squirrel a look, “he let me ride and the horse spooked.”

“Ah,” she says. Lancelot’s guilt and worry make more sense suddenly, though somewhere deep down they both know that Squirrel will get injured training. She doubts Lancelot has any concept of appropriate training injuries though and it’s a painful reminder of what his early life was like, “let’s get something cool on it,” she repeats, “and see how it looks,” she looks at Lancelot, “he’s going to be fine.”

He nods but looks less than convinced.

For no reason Pym wonders how he’s going to handle it when they have a place to live and people feel comfortable enough to start having little ones again.

* * *

The tree explodes.

Lancelot manages to throw up his own Fire, cocooning the debris that erupt. It’s a smaller tree but they are lucky no-one gets hurt. He knows that only sending Goliath and Pym and Squirrel ahead saved them from the debris the first time he used the Fire in their presence. But seeing the amount of damage from someone else still makes him wonder how they escaped unscathed. Himself included.

“How do I go from that to that,” she says, pointing at his Fire.

“Control,” he says.

“Oh that’s helpful,” Tristain snaps, “why didn’t I think of that?” She folds her arms, “if I’m not allowed to use the flog, how am I supposed to control anything?”

Lancelot knows her logic and he’s felt the same frustration, but the pointed way she asks makes him feel cold. Probably for the first time. He’s understood the brutality he was raised with, how it initially worked with what he knew. Even as it warped him. But to hear it thrown back in the same way, it makes something in him recoil. In a way that he isn’t sure it ever has before. He feels none of the itching for the flog that he’s used to, just an odd wave of nausea at the way those words spilled from his lips.

“Kaze,” he says, “you need to speak to her.”

“Is that how you did it?”

“She helped.”

Kaze and Tristain speak the same physical language and he would rather deal with a dozen exploding trees than try to have Pym and Squirrel help Tristain.

* * *

“I made the choice not to say anything, Merlin was just respecting that!”

“I don’t give a flying shit what his excuse is, you’re one of mine!

Pym cringes from the step that Guinevere takes and wonders why she’s thrown herself in front of the Druid. Maybe just the idea of anyone dying for her is a horrible one, regardless of if they deserve it or not. Merlin seems less than afraid, Pym supposes immortality will do that to you. Even though she thinks the Gods themselves should probably be concerned about Guinevere stalking towards them to kill.

“I just said she wasn’t there. There could be any number of reasons,” Merlin says. He jumps suddenly, “could you not do that?”

Pym looks over her shoulder and sees Lancelot has cut off any exit. As upset as she is about the vision, she doesn’t want to see either of them hurt. Any of them, though she doubts Merlin can be. She also doesn’t want him to spew more visions. No-one else should lose sleep over his words. Lancelot doesn’t move forward but she can see his anger and they both know exactly what he’s doing.

“Why is she not there?” Guinevere demands.

“I don’t know,” Merlin says, “I thought she was just some village girl—“ Guinevere almost snarls.

“I am!” Pym says loudly, drawing all their attention back to her, “that’s exactly what I am. I don’t know why you can’t see me in your vision.”

“Well given the evidence I think you’re being protected,” the Druid says.

“Protected by who?” Lancelot questions sharply.

Merlin smiles.

“No need to be jealous. It’s more of a what,” he says, “you are a Summoner, though given the Sky Folk’s natural abilities that shouldn’t surprise me. You may not have the makings of a High Summoner but that’s not really up to any of us. The Hidden choose.”

“Nimue chose me,” Pym corrects.

“Yes,” he says “the Hidden agree,” he adds, “it might be one of those.”

Guinevere walks up to Merlin and Pym knows Merlin’s a former drunk—former so many things. But he’s still dangerous. Not that such a thing makes a difference. She sees Lancelot’s hand drop to his blades. It’s far less about harming Merlin in the moment and far more about protecting Guinevere. It doesn’t make her feel any better about their chances of getting out of there.

“I want to her about your visions,” Guinevere says, “before they happen.”

“It doesn’t really work that way,” Merlin points out. Her eyes narrow, “what about as soon as they happen?”

“The second they happen.”

“The second they happen,” he says, “as long as that one doesn’t burn me for telling you first.”

Lancelot’s eyes narrow and Pym imagines there’s no guarantees for any of their behavior. It might be best for everyone if Merlin has no more visions.

Though she doubts they’ll be that lucky.

* * *

“You’ll be careful?” she asks softly into the darkness.

“Yes,” he says.

“Actually careful,” she repeats.

  
“Yes,” he repeats, “but I cannot let others be taken.”

“No, I know,” she says, “I don’t want you to,” she says emphatically, “I’m just—“ she trails off, “it’s the first time you’re going out again.”

He’s quiet for a moment, it’s a strange thing still to hear she’s afraid and to know that fear is for him rather than of him. That anyone is afraid for him. He doesn’t want to make her feel that way, though she knows they need to go. That they have another rare opportunity to strike back. To drive another wedge between Cumber and Uther.

“If I don’t come back, I know you’ll come after me,” he says instead.

“Well that goes without saying,” she says, craning her neck to look at him, “you’ll be careful though? Even if you get taken just—“

“I’ll be careful,” he says.

“By the Hidden—“ they both look at Squirrel through the darkness as he gets up, yanking the amulet off and shoving it at him, “just take this with you. I promise to stay close. Now can you two stop so we can get some sleep?”

He takes the amulet and nods back towards Squirrel’s bedroll. The boy shivers and gives him a stubborn glare before going back to his bed. Lancelot frowns and realizes that the fall has turned almost into winter. If he touches the back of his head he can feel his hair growing in more. He’s surprised at how different things are. Of all the ways he thought winter would begin, none of this was ever in his head. He slips the amulet over his head.

“You’ll stay warm while I’m gone?” he asks.

“I think I’ll manage,” she promises, “but you should come back quickly all the same.”


End file.
